


without a mask

by ceruleanVulpine



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, jacobi is stressed, kepler is amused, stupid dangerous and potentially explosive things: the daniel jacobi story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 16:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8924716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleanVulpine/pseuds/ceruleanVulpine
Summary: “Something wrong?” Kepler’s expression is completely open and completely blank — transparent the way glass is transparent. Jacobi is pretty sure that makes him the bird flying directly into the big clear window. Look, there's nothing there! Thud. 
---
Kepler and Jacobi have an arrangement — well, Kepler has an arrangement. Jacobi has a series of failures of self-control, the worst of which was expecting emotional reciprocity from Warren fucking Kepler. Bad decision, my dude.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LuckyDiceKirby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyDiceKirby/gifts).



As it turns out, the only thing that’s harder than spending seventy-two hours on a cramped experimental module not talking to someone is spending those cramped seventy-two hours not talking to  _ anyone.  _

It could be worse. In the aftermath of… whatever, everyone is pretty content to leave Jacobi alone. He keeps catching Maxwell looking at him (with pity? suspicion?), but she doesn’t try to talk. Eiffel, overflowing with nervous energy and constitutionally unable to shut up, keeps making painfully casual stabs at conversation, asking Maxwell about college, movies, video games, work she’s done. Maxwell answers him absently, or tells him it’s classified, or just doesn’t notice the questions, too lost in thought. Captain Lovelace stands in a corner and silently glowers. Jacobi might be thankful, except that as far as he can tell that’s just Lovelace’s default setting. 

When they get back, and get through the initial round of shouting — Lovelace having found her voice again just in time to vehemently defend herself to Kepler, a losing proposition at the best of times — Maxwell corners Jacobi and fixes him with an alarmingly earnest look. He tries to tactically slink away, but it’s too late; there’s no avenue of escape. “Jacobi,” she begins, putting her hand on his shoulder. 

He shrugs her off as casually as he can and gives her an approximation of a smile. “Already over it.”

Maxwell makes a frustrated noise and sets off after Lovelace. 

“Don’t quit your day job,” says Minkowski, staring at him with open curiosity. “You’re …  not very good at acting.” 

“Just because  _ you  _ never made it to Broadway…” 

“Hey! I—” 

“Lieutenant, are you just standing around, or is there something I can do for you?” Jacobi interrupts. His head hurts and he wants to freaking sleep. He drifted on the module, but it didn’t help; he kept startling awake in half-unconscious panic. 

“No, but you can help  _ me  _ with something,” Kepler answers. His habit of appearing out of thin air has never stopped startling Jacobi, but he snickers at Minkowski’s badly-suppressed flinch anyway. “Step into my office, Mr. Jacobi, we’ve got things to discuss.”

 

\---

 

“Alright. Let’s go over what happened.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jacobi says, sullenly. 

Kepler looks up from his papers with a dangerous expression: not the blunt force trauma face, but three steps removed at most. He doesn’t even look  _ angry,  _ just incredulous. Maybe a little disappointed.

“Sir,” Jacobi adds.

Kepler shuffles one of his papers to the back of the pile. Then he leans back in his chair. “Did I ever tell you,” he says amiably, “about the time I broke into the embassy in Marrakech?”

“I think you did, actually, sir.” 

Kepler raises his eyebrows. “Did I? Then I’ll spare you the experience of hearing the story a second time, because _I_ _don’t like to repeat myself._ ”

Years of conditioning have taught Jacobi when to stop pushing; the warning lights he’s been ignoring flash with more urgency. He folds. “I understand, sir.” 

“Do you?” says Kepler. “Mr. Jacobi, for reasons I’m sure even you can grasp, I would prefer your account to that of the person who I hold chiefly responsible for this fiasco, although I’ll have to talk to Captain Lovelace once I’m no longer in danger of  _ murdering her with my bare hands _ —” He shakes his head. “So we’re going to go over exactly what went wrong out there. With questions. More than once, if we have to! Try to be clear, and once should do.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

They go over it three times. Jacobi thinks he might actually, non-metaphorically explode if he has to sit still for very much longer. If he told Maxwell that she'd laugh and ask if he ever thinks about anything other than explosions, but Maxwell also seems convinced Jacobi has lost his grip and needs to  _ talk about his feelings,  _ so. More relevant: she isn’t here. Instead, Jacobi is exhausted, gritting his teeth against a lethal headache, and staring down Kepler as he talks him through every second he was away from the module. It’s harder, each time through, to remember exactly what happened; it’s harder to hold on to his absolute conviction that he came back the same person who left. Doubt creeps in, and anger, and Jacobi’s increasingly sure he’s going to screw up and get immediately spaced and/or handcuffed to an examination table.

“We-ell.” Kepler flips through his papers again — he wasn't  _ writing  _ anything, Jacobi wonders if they're just a prop to put the possible alien at ease — and sets them down on the desk. He stands. “I think that’s enough. You’re dismissed. If you see the good captain, send her my way.”

“Sir.”

“Something wrong?” Kepler’s expression is completely open and completely blank — transparent the way glass is transparent. Jacobi is pretty sure that makes him the bird flying directly into the big clear window. Look, there's nothing there! Thud. 

Sure, most people would react, just a little bit, to the possibility of their right-hand man being replaced by an alien impostor. But he should know by now that Kepler isn’t  _ most people.  _ Warren Kepler hid behind the door when they handed out “human emotion” and talked them into giving him two double handfuls of “terrifying and attractive competence” in compensation. It’s insanity to expect anything else. 

Jacobi has done a lot of objectively insane things. He kind of wishes he had the willpower to stop doing this particular one. Instead he takes Kepler’s wrist and kisses him, before he has time to think better of it.

When they break apart, Kepler is surveying him with mild interest, and Jacobi stares back. He forces himself to uncurl his fingers from the other man’s arm. Then Kepler laughs. “Mr. Jacobi,” he says, in an appallingly cheerful voice, “you could have just asked!” 

Kepler’s face breaks into a warm and perfectly charming smile. He reaches out to touch the side of Jacobi’s face and pulls him in, watching him like he's the most interesting thing in the world. And he kisses him back. 

He’s perfect at it,  _ of course.  _ Jacobi knows that already, because this has happened every time Jacobi’s self-control has broken, ever since Kepler bought him a drink and quoted Shakespeare at him and Jacobi wondered if his flirting could possibly be serious,  _ of course.  _ And of course it still doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t change anything. But falling for Kepler, like a lot of other stupid, dangerous, potentially explosive things, is hard to give up.

Besides, space is really freaking cold. It's only human to look for a warm body to hang on to, or at least he hopes it is. There's no substitute for skin-to-skin contact: there's probably a Pryce and Carter tip about that. And Kepler’s pretty good at skin-to-skin contact too. 

 

\---

 

“Fuck, I love you,” Jacobi gasps, and hopes he doesn't mean it. Kepler bares his teeth against Jacobi’s throat and Jacobi feels him laugh. 

**Author's Note:**

> happy candlenights sarah! xx


End file.
